Stave 4 - The Last of the Spirits
The draped and hooded Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come hovered a metre or two away from the Prime Minister.
"Lead on," said Theresa. "Lead on. The night is waning fast, and it is precious time to me, I know. Lead on, Spirit."
They scarcely seemed to enter the Parliament; for the Palace of Westminster rather seemed to spring up about them, and encompass them of its own act. But there they were, in the heart of it; in the Commons, amongst the MPs; who hurried up and down, and plotted in groups, and looked at their phones, and trifled thoughtfully with their papers; and so forth, as May had seen them often.
The Spirit stopped beside one little knot of MPs. Observing that the hand was pointed to them, Theresa advanced to listen to their talk.
"No," said a big man with a monstrous blond mop for hair," I don't know much about it, either way. I only know she's dead."
"When did she die?" inquired another.
"Last night, I believe."
"She'll be remembered though?"
"Of course. She'll be in the top ten worst Prime Ministers until the end of time. Unbelievably rigid and lacking in imagination. Just when we most needed creative solutions. No wonder they called her Maybot."
Thersa put her hand to her mouth. They were talking about her.
"That's a little harsh."
At least she had one supporter.
"Really? After the way she mishandled Brexit?"
"You're right. She would be clear winner of the worst Prime Minister contest."
The group laughed. Then the wood panelling and rich furnishings dissolved into mist. Gravestones loomed around Theresa and the Spirit.
The Spirit pointed at a grieving couple. To her horror, Theresa saw that it was the Police Officer and her husband at a small grave.
"No. Not Tim?"
The Spirit inclined its "head" once more.
"It's not going to happen."
The Spirit pointed to an open grave nearby.
"Yes. Yes. I know. It's my grave. Well I'm fed up with your silly games and I'm no longer playing by your rules. Or anyone else's."
Teresa jabbed her finger into the place where the Spirit's chest should be. The Spirit stepped back as if in alarm.
"We can save that child and we will."
She saw an alteration in the Phantom's hood and dress. It shrunk, collapsed, and dwindled down into the dressing gown hung on the door. Typical. All pointing finger and no trousers.
"I will save that child - and show those bickering idiots in Westminster what happens when I get imaginative."
Tomorrow - Stave 5: The End of It
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